Savage Exile: Lion Hearts Book Five Read online

  The hair on the back of his neck lifted. Cautious, quiet steps shuffled forward. Juniper and rain cut through the oil and dirt of mechanical work. She reconsidered at the edge of the barn, only to turn back again.

  As much as he wanted to roll out and flash her his best smile, he stayed underneath the truck. She was skittish, and skittish animals spooked with sudden movements. He had to be patient and earn her words.

  “I saw the new sign,” she said after a few minutes. “Little mean, don’t you think?”

  “Eight months, and you don’t see the honesty in it?” Rhys grunted as he tightened down a nut, then rolled out from underneath the truck and reached for the cold beer next to his toolbox.

  Fur brushed against his mind when he eyed her over the bottle. So what if he read more into the words than what was probably there. She defended him in her quiet way, and his inner beast purred over it.

  She leaned against the paddock fence and looked everywhere except at him, but that didn’t mean anything. She’d left the others to stand near him, and she held the carving he’d made in her hands. Her fingers didn’t stop running over the figure as she turned it this way and that. His lion rolled to his back and left off a heavy sigh at that, and Rhys swallowed back his own low groan. Too easy to imagine her running those fingertips over him instead of something he’d made.

  “How did you know about my scar?” she asked with a frown.

  He yanked his eyes away from her hands and gestured to the high collar of her sweater. “The top is sometimes visible, especially if you don’t wear your hair over your shoulder.”

  “That doesn’t explain all of it.”

  Her voice was quiet, but firm, and Rhys knew he shouldn’t lie. Even if she wouldn’t hear the falseness in his voice or scent the lie in the air, she demanded honesty. Deserved it, too.

  He gestured to his own collarbones with his bottle. “You trace it more than you think. Wasn’t hard to figure out what it was. Kyla confirmed it.”

  “Gossip hound,” Sage muttered without a shred of heat. She flashed a small, private smile to her toes, then snuck a sidelong look at her friend.

  “Is that why you don’t shift?”

  She sat back and blinked. “You noticed that, too?” A wry smile twitched the corners of her lips. “Should I be considering a restraining order?”

  He spread his hands wide. “You haven’t told me to get fucked, so…”

  She laughed. A handful of notes before turning serious again, but she laughed. Rhys mentally chalked up the victory as his lion circled and settled inside him with a contented sigh.

  “I’ve tried. She won’t come out. She hardly makes sense these days.”

  “Or maybe,” he said, taking another sip of his beer, “she makes more sense than you’re willing to admit.”

  She cocked her head, expression hooded. He didn’t drop his eyes, silently daring her to say whatever lurked in her head.

  She opened her mouth, only to dart a look to his phone rattling on the lid of his toolbox.

  Motherfucker.

  “Get that, will you?” he asked as he set his bottle on the ground. He reached for a clean rag to wipe his hands, but no way he’d get to the phone in time.

  Sage shot him an unreadable expression, but answered anyway. “Hello?” The hum of words he couldn’t quite make out brought her eyebrows together. After a moment, she held the device out to him. “He says he’s your father.”

  Shock slapped him in the face. Even his lion sat back, dumbfounded. Father. Father? The same fucker who’d declared him exiled and drove him over the pride territory lines? Who’d condemned him for avenging Hannah? That fucker wanted to call him up and claim fatherhood now?

  Rhys surprised himself by calmly taking the phone instead of smashing it into a million pieces. Not that it’d do any good. The man wasn’t living inside the device, and he’d just have to replace the damn thing.

  He pressed the phone to his ear, but didn’t say anything.

  “Rhys.”

  Fuck. That was his father, all right. The deep, husky voice. The commanding tone. He could still hear Alton Chapman’s last words telling him to never return. Why the fuck did he call?

  Rhys’s ears buzzed, and the rest of the world dropped away.

  “Who answered your phone?” his father asked. “Should I be congratulating you for moving on?”

  “What do you want?” he rasped.

  His father paused, and Rhys could picture the slight tightening of his mouth. “Your new pride has made quite the name for itself. We’ve heard the stories even in our neck of the woods.”

  Careful words. Measured words. No telling if he was friend or foe when he stayed neutral to both sides. With dragons deep in the mountains to their north and a handful of bears to the south, the alpha of the Blue Ridge Devils had to know how to keep others satisfied through more than force.

  “I want to talk. In person. Don’t you think it’s time we buried the hatchet?”

  A snarl worked its way up from Rhys’s middle. Motherfucker. He still carried scars from the last time he’d been under his father’s roof. He wasn’t welcome inside his territory. After all the years, he thought he could swoop in with a fucking attaboy and pretend none of it was his fault?

  He’d lost everything in the space of an afternoon. No mate, no home, no pride. The people he should have been able to depend on were ripped away with a few words uttered by the man on the other end of the line. All because he killed men who needed killing.

  Fuck it. He couldn’t handle another dose of bullshit on top of the threats the pride already faced. He killed the call, but couldn’t kill the snarl rolling out of him.

  “Rhys?” Sage asked softly.

  The alarm in her voice tore him to shreds. The fear in her scent threatened to bring him to his knees. Neither touched his lion. The beast wanted out.

  That was his honest self. Out of control. Murderous. Best she learned it now than after he lured her closer. Best they both recognized the danger he posed.

  He wasn’t any good for her. He would destroy the soft, good parts and set fire to what remained.

  Sweet fuck, he needed a brawl. A flash of conscience kept him from throwing a punch into the nearest face. Their mates watched. They didn’t need to see the violent shit he wanted to get up to at that moment.

  “I’m going to fight night,” he snarled, spinning on his heel. His lion roared at giving them their back, but Rhys ignored it. His truck was right there. The escape hatch was opening. He just needed to hold on—

  Lindley blocked his path. “You aren’t going anywhere. Our asses are staying home, yours included.”

  “I wasn’t asking for permission.” He narrowed his eyes as irritation boiled in his veins. Fucker needed to let him pass. Now. Before his animal ripped out of his skin and tore into anyone stupid enough to stay in his path.

  “Ease up,” Trent ordered.

  Rhys turned to him, cruel expression on his face. Fuck orders. Fuck alphas doling them out. Fuck keeping himself on a tight leash. None of it mattered in the end.

  “Are you going to stop me?” he snarled.

  Uneasy silence swarmed the air. Rhys knew he should back down. Lower his eyes and expose his neck, even if submitting chafed his inner beast. For the good of the pride, he tried to tell himself, but the words sounded weak and hollow in his own head.

  He didn’t give a shit that he challenged Trent. He didn’t want the top position. He just wanted to fight.

  Trent grimaced after a moment. “Fine. Go,” he growled, eyes glowing with his inner beast. “Don’t expect us to come running if you get skinned alive out there.”

  The man didn’t move.

  Fucking alpha games. Rhys brushed past him, knocking him into a stumble with his shoulder. The growl that tumbled out of the man grated on his lion. The beast wanted to whip around and demand he make the noise to his fucking face.

  Rhys stomped for his truck instead. Jaw clenched, he hauled himself inside
and jammed his key in the ignition before swiveling his head to take in the surprise passenger crowded against her door.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice thick and full of gravel. His hands tightened around the wheel, turning his knuckles white. With the fury coursing through him or to stop himself from reaching for her, he didn’t know. His blood was already up and she smelled so fucking delicious. “You should go, little cat.”

  Sage dragged down a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m just following orders.” Her voice shook, but she still lifted her eyes to meet his. Almost as tightly as he gripped the wheel, she clutched the carving he’d given her. “We’re not supposed to leave alone, remember?”

  Fuck. Fuck. Rhys let off a gritty purr. Brave woman with a core of fire. The alpha backed down under the threat of him ripping the pride’s peaceful little existence to shreds, but here she was, locking her knees against the storm he wanted to unleash on the world.

  He didn’t deserve her. None of them deserved her.

  Rhys sped off the ranch before she could reconsider.

  Chapter 11

  What the hell was she doing?

  Sage stared at the trees flashing on the side of the road. The breaks between the tall trunks strobed the light in a way that made her want to close her eyes, but she didn’t dare. Not with Rhys growling up a storm right next to her.

  The man threw off dominance like crazy. Her lioness itched to get closer and scratched to make an escape, switching with nearly every rise and fall of his snarl.

  She breathed through it. Somehow. Not like there was any changing her mind as they barreled down the road.

  He needed someone to stand with him the same way he offered to stand with her. She just didn’t know how to be that person when her instincts wanted her to turtle inside herself and never, ever dare stick her head out again.

  In no time at all, Rhys slowed and pulled into a rough, muddy parking lot where a handful of trucks waited for their owners to return. Defiant Dog, though there wasn’t a sign advertising the name of the bar.

  She’d never stepped foot in the joint, but she’d heard its reputation. The hole in the wall was a rough place meant for the wild shifters who lived on the edge of enclave territory. The males in the pride didn’t like taking their mates there, preferring to visit the bar in the middle of town for any joint outings.

  Was it any wonder? The ramshackle building didn’t look much different than the dens back on the ranch. Same general shape, anyway. Much more run down. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn it got its start because some old enterprising ranch hand got tired of working in the sun, squatted in a rancher’s hut, and served up rotgut to the poor souls who passed his way.

  “Why are we here?” she asked softly.

  “Because...” Rhys’s low growl died completely. He frowned straight ahead and rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart. “Because a lot of bullshit can happen with me locked in a cage and you sitting with a bunch of strangers. This is safer.”

  Safer, maybe. But not calm. His agitation was still off the charts. “Are you going to get into a brawl?”

  He leaned his head against his seat and rolled his eyes to her. “Maybe.” His lips took on a wicked curve with his answer. “Does that bother you?”

  Sage toyed with the lioness carving and refused to meet Rhys’s look. “A little.”

  “Why does it matter if it’s here or at the fighting ring?”

  “There are rules there. No one is going to get killed. You’ll be stopped if it goes too far.”

  “Hector keeps a rifle behind the bar, and he’s a good shot.” Rhys kicked his door open and dropped to the ground.

  Sage snapped upright and tracked the man marching for the door. He spun around, eyes full of challenge, and she was out of her seat before she could even think. “What do you mean he’s a good shot?” she asked, trailing after him. He shrugged, but didn’t answer. “Rhys? Has he shot you before?”

  Despite what he said, she was almost certain the fighting ring would be a safer place. Especially when he swung the door open and she stepped into a thick wall of rank, dirty air and aggression.

  Sage stopped in the middle of the doorway to let her eyes adjust to the dim light inside. Two groups split on either side of the small room. All males, which wouldn’t have been a problem if they weren’t eyeing her like a walking slab of meat.

  Rhys shot them a glare, then pressed her forward with a hand on the small of her back. Heat spread through her middle, then raced up her spine. Her shoulders relaxed as the warmth melted across them and down her arms to tingle in her fingertips.

  Sage started at a loud guffaw to her left. Her skin crawled under the intense looks fixated on her, but the hand on her lower back kept moving her forward.

  “Ignore them,” Rhys grumbled, another glare firing over his shoulder. “We’re not here for them.”

  Maybe she wasn’t, but they sure as hell were prime targets for the savage lion to unleash some of his pent-up energy.

  Hector, she presumed, scowled as soon as they were seated at the bar. “This ain’t that fancy joint in town. Don’t go asking for no fruity shit.”

  Sage’s brows lowered. “Whatever you have on tap. And two shots of tequila.”

  The bearded, weatherworn man pursed his lips and eyed her from slits the entire time he filled two pints, then sloshed tequila into two shot glasses. Those he slid down the bar, then stood with one hand on his hip as if waiting to call her bluff.

  Something unfamiliar curdled inside her. She didn’t like the shifters muttering in the corner. She didn’t like that Rhys needed a fight. She didn’t like the way Hector stared her down. She didn’t like how he’d mouthed off as soon as she approached. Her money was as good as anyone else’s, dammit, and she didn’t see him making judgments on anyone else’s beverages.

  Jaw tight, Sage reached for one glass, tapped the bottom against the bar, then fired the liquor straight into her mouth. She didn’t allow herself time to feel the burn before slamming down the second and pushing both glasses back to the bartender.

  “I got limes if you want ‘em,” Hector said with a shrug, sliding their pints in front of them.

  “I thought you said no fruity shit.”

  Hector harrumphed and made his way down the bar, ineffectively wiping here and there as he muttered under his breath.

  “Pretty sure that’s the most shocked Hector has ever been,” Rhys said at her side.

  Sage twisted around, and Rhys surprised her with a smile. Only, he didn’t bare his teeth in a grimace or show a crooked, cocky smirk like he knew what was going on in her head. This was a genuine, hand to heart, the world ain’t half bad, smile. And goodness gracious, if it didn’t make her insides simmer.

  Sage dropped her eyes. Her cheeks felt hot under his attention. She suddenly felt too exposed. Even with the other groups jammed into the small bar, they weren’t her people ready to shout out some distraction. They weren’t even loud enough to drown out conversation like she could expect from the fighting ring. Sitting there with Rhys—even feeling big and dominant and more than a little scary—felt almost like a... date.

  She didn’t know how long it’d been since her last one. Definitely before her father sentenced all the lionesses in the pride to service. Even before that, she’d had to sneak out for dinner and drinks. After, with her options limited to cruel monsters like her father, she wanted little to do with dates. What was the point of filling her heart with hope when she didn’t have a say in her mate?

  The heat in her cheeks doubled. “I’m not a cub to be treated with light touches,” she defended, still keeping her eyes down.

  “No, you’re a grown-ass woman.” Rhys took a pull of his drink. “Maybe you need to act more like a cub.”

  She snapped her head up as her eyebrows melded together. “What do you mean by that?”

  “They get hungry, they cry. Hurt? Cry. Miss their mamas and papas? Bawl their little eyes out.”
/>   “So I need to throw tantrums?” Sage flicked a sidelong look in his direction. “I thought you had the monopoly on those.”

  “Deflection.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he called her out. “You put everyone else’s wants over your needs. Cubs don’t do that. Their needs are top fuckin’ priority and they make damn sure everyone else knows it.”

  “That’s not how civilized society is supposed to act.”

  “Fuck civilized. And you’re wrong. Everything is about wants and needs. Problems happen when people can’t figure out which is which, or won’t back down and let someone else be taken care of first.”

  “Is that why we’re here? Fighting was just a want?”

  “Don’t be fooled, little cat. It’s a need.” Another wicked smile curved his lips. “But maybe I figured out a different way to do it.”

  “Why now? What about that phone call set you off?”

  “Everything sets me off. You’ve known that from your first days here.” He cocked his head and fixed her with a hooded look. “You stopped me then. You’re trying to stop me now. Why?”

  Sage froze with her drink halfway to her lips. Her stomach twisted and turned under his focus. “I didn’t stop—”

  “Lie.”

  She snapped her mouth closed with an audible click. One of the other groups laughed loudly again, and she was glad of the distraction that took Rhys’s eyes off her.

  All too soon, his focus swept back to her. Words built on the back of her tongue, and she resisted letting them slip past her lips. She fidgeted in her seat, but that only made his eyebrows shoot up and an obnoxious smirk lift the corner of his mouth.

  “I didn’t do anything the others hadn’t done before,” she insisted in a rush.

  Rhys grunted. “Not talking about them. I want to know why you ordered me to stop.”